For What It's Worth
by Colbie15
Summary: This is a throwback to Season 8 set just after Southern Comfort. Tension is high between the boys. It takes only a small gesture to get them back on track. One-shot.


**For What It's Worth**

 _The thin, hot air made Dean's chest constrict as he climbed the hill toward the portal. A sense of urgency filled him. If he missed this chance, they could be stuck here forever. And priority number one was getting out with the reluctant angel._

" _Cas! Damn it. Come on!"_

 _It pained him that Cas lost faith in him. Maybe it was taking on Sam's crazy or maybe it was the constant threat from the Leviathan, but the angel had lost his will to survive. If Dean knew if Cas didn't get out with him today, the Leviathan would kill him._

 _He used everything he had to push himself to the top and leaned down to grab his struggling friend. "I've got you. Hold on."_

 _He would get them both out of this Godforsaken place or die trying. He expected see Cas and to hear his voice calling for him. But it wasn't Cas. The face in front of him morphed into his little brother. His eyes were blown wide, full of confusion as he slipped from Dean's grasp._

 _Sam plea to save him was lost in the thundering sound of the portal as Dean was swept back home._

oOo

Dean's eyes shot open as he struggled to pull in a breathe. He tried to focus on his surroundings, not sure where — or when — his was. A sheen of light drifting in from a streetlight just outside helped him gain his bearings. A run-down motel on the outskirts of Billings, Montana.

He pulled off here because he was tired of driving and even more tired of the tension between him and Sam. Barely a word was spoken between them in the 16 hours since they left Missouri. Being possessed by anything is never fun, but that specter kicked his ass. Made him say too much. Reveal too much. Had it not been for Garth, he would have killed Sam. If he had, he would have turned the gun on himself because there would be no living after that.

He swiped a hand down his face hoping to erase the bleariness. Sleep wasn't an option now. Even the four good hours failed to relieve the exhaustion he felt. The nightmares weren't helping.

After a year in monster hell where sleep wasn't necessary, he had almost forgotten how a bad dream could take hold of him. Since the got back, he had plenty of fodder to feed nightmares. Not being able to save Cas was the most frequent. Sammy being stuck in Purgatory was a close second.

His gaze drifted from the sliver of light filtering through the window to the next bed where Sam lay undisturbed. Still asleep. Good. Dean was glad to avoid questions about whether he was okay. Or worse — finding out that Sam didn't give a damn whether he was okay or not.

Lying in the dark wasn't going to get his mind off the things that he didn't want to think about. But a whiskey might. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pressed his hands into the mattress, gathering the energy to stand. He felt like crap. Weeks of too little sleep and too much alcohol was taking its toll. That and being possessed by an avenging ghost.

His eyes rested on his little brother. The same little brother who could get along just fine without him for a whole year.

He sounded like a broken record, even to himself. The possession burned off most of the anger that had been simmering since he found out that Sam tapped out when he disappeared. All that was left now was an ache in his chest and a voice in his head that kept repeating the same mantra. Sam didn't care enough to even look for him.

Dean wasn't sure exactly what he had expected from Sam. He certainly hadn't wanted him to show up in the hell hole that was Purgatory. And he didn't want him to make a deal with Crowley or any other entity that could have pulled him out of there.

If Dean never made it out, he would have wanted Sam to be safe. To have a life that made him happy. He did exactly that.

Except that he did make it out to find Sam had been just fine without him. Better even, with a dog and a girl and apparently no time for a haircut. It confirmed what Dean already knew deep down. He needed Sam more than Sam ever needed him.

He squeezed his eyes closed at the lifelong insecurity that still occupied his heart. He shook away the thought and turned his gaze back to his sleeping brother.

Garth was right. He needed to get past it before the rift in their relationship was too big to mend. He still needed Sam to keep him balanced and sane. Without his brother, Dean knew this life of hunting would consume him the way it had their dad. The way memories of Purgatory threatened to consume him now.

As much as he wanted to get out of that place, it still surprised him when every now and then he thought maybe it wouldn't be so bad to go back. At least there, he knew where he stood. The only mission was to kill or be killed. And he was good at killing.

Fighting for your life kept things simple. There was no time for girls or dogs or dreams of a better life. Back here in his old life, nothing was that uncomplicated. And what should have been an easy ghost hunt turned into him exposing all of his deep thoughts that would have been better kept locked up.

When he was possessed and holding that penny, some of the things he said were true. Sam let him down and Benny had not. But some angry words were born out of a stray thought that was rooted in hurt rather than truth. Benny was a friend, almost like a brother. But he was never the brother that Sam was. Never would be. Regardless of what Sam had done or not done, he would always be the most important person in Dean's life.

When Sam threatened move on, Dean had no doubt that he would. Past experience backed that up. He couldn't take losing someone else, especially his little brother.

He needed to fix this. Talking it out wasn't likely to help. Sam would never understand about Benny. Honestly, Dean didn't really want to hear anymore about how Sam found something that he had always wanted. Something that Dean could never provide for him.

The walls of the musty old room started to close in on him. He squinted around for where he left his boots. After years of experience, he knew how to dress without waking the sleeping giant in the next bed. Without a glance back, he slipped out of the motel room.

oOo

Sam heard it all. The quick breaths of a nightmare in progress. The gasp for air, then the calming breaths as Dean tried to get his heart rate under control. They were not unfamiliar sounds. Years of shared rooms in cheap motels made him privy to way more than Dean would have liked.

He blinked open his eyes and kept them trained on his brother. It wasn't the worst he'd ever seen. Not as bad as the nightmares he had after his stint in hell. Not as bad as the first week or so after Purgatory. But bad enough.

He knew from experience that Dean would either drift back to sleep or wake up and act like nothing was wrong. So he didn't intervene. It was easier to pretend he didn't hear. And when Dean tilted his head toward his bed, Sam closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

It was when he heard the soft click of the door that he stirred. Dean probably went to find more whiskey. He lifted his arm to check the time on his wrist. It was later — or perhaps earlier — than he thought. 5:34 a.m.

It was too early for drinking, but Dean wouldn't be watching the clock. Whenever Dean was struggling, he turned to alcohol. It didn't matter whether it was 5 a.m. or 5 p.m.

Sam could only imagine what it must have been like for Dean in Purgatory — struggling to stay alive and get out. He could even understand why he needed Benny on his side down there. But Sam never, ever thought he would hear Dean say that a vampire was more of a brother to him than he was. The words cut through him more than any other ever in their lives.

And it made him angry enough to issue the ultimatum. _Move on or I will._ If Sam could find Benny, he would kill him in a heartbeat— not just because of the fangs. He would end the son of a bitch because of the way the vampire used his brother to get out of Purgatory. And for the way Benny stood between them now. He was a monster who needed to die.

After Garth destroyed the penny, Sam held onto his anger for hours — despite the white-fisted grip Dean kept on the wheel as he drove. As soon as the Impala pulled into the motel lot, Sam was out of the car and moving in any direction he could find that wasn't near his brother. He needed space to breathe, just for awhile.

When Dean asked where he was going, he snapped out a curt response that he needed some air.

Dean let him go without argument and texted him with a room number. And when Sam returned a few hours later with a peace offering in the form of a pizza, Dean was gone.

Sam thought for a moment that he got fed up and left — probably to find Benny — until he spotted his Dean's duffle bag on the floor by his bed. Yeah, he was still hurt and a little pissed, but he couldn't believe that after everything, this would be what tore them apart.

It wasn't surprising when Dean returned at 2 in the morning smelling of whiskey and cigarette smoke. He plopped off his boots, shrugged off his jacket and fell onto the mattress without noticing the cold pizza on the table or the brother who was _not_ sleeping in the bed nearest the wall.

Sam couldn't read his expression in the darkened room. He was drunk for sure. Probably angry. More than likely still feeling guilty of some of the things he said while the specter had a hold on him.

With Dean sleeping it off, Sam relaxed enough to catch a few hours of shut eye as well. Whatever they need to work on would be better accomplished if they both were rested. That should have been a good plan, except Dean took off again.

As the emptiness of the room became more apparent, Sam leaned toward the lamp at his bedside to switch it on. The dim bulb gave the room just enough light so for him to find a clean set of clothes and grab a quick shower. He still had time to make his bed and pack his clothes before cracking open his computer to look for a case. These days, he and Dean got along better when they were working so he would find a reason to work. As Dean would say, they just needed a few wins on the board.

With the sun moving up in the sky, he finally texted Dean, several times. And got no response. An attempt to locate his brother through GPS turned out to be just as fruitless. Dean really didn't want to be found.

Again, he thought maybe Dean left him. His eyes swung to the duffle. It would contain clothes and maybe a knife or a gun — all of which could be replaced. There was only one thing he wouldn't leave behind.

Any thoughts against evading Dean's privacy evaporated as Sam moved across the room and threw the bag on the bed. He shoved around the clothes to find a silver knife but not his gun. And not the one thing he was looking for.

Dad's journal was missing.

Crowley's words when Dean first disappeared rushed back to him. _You are well and truly alone._

Sam spun around the room, looking for the journal he knew wouldn't find. Maybe Dean was reading it and left it out. But he only saw the uneaten pizza and his own neatly packed bags.

If Dean was gone then Sam would find him. He just needed to calm down and think, but too many emotions were grabbing at him. A stab of anger cut through them all. How could Dean do this to him? They were still brothers, right? Even if Dean thought Benny was better at it. Sam was still his flesh and blood. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Or had Dean finally given up on him? Sam had no time to process that thought when the door clicked and opened. His missing brother was standing in the doorway juggling the room key and a large paper cup with _Java Hut_ splayed on it. His eyes swept to the tousled duffle on the bed and to the knife still in Sam's hand.

Before Dean could ask, Sam jumped in with his own accusation. "Where the hell have you been?"

Dean's bewildered face took in the scene. His answer was unexpectedly truthful. "I couldn't sleep. Found a coffee shop instead."

That Dean brought back coffee only for himself spoke volumes to Sam and allowed him to latch on to his indignation to provide another sharp response. "You didn't answer my texts."

"Phone died," Dean answered as he passed off the cup to Sam.

Confusion set in as he accepted the coffee. "This is for me?"

Dean tilted his head and looked at Sam as if he had lost his mind. Perhaps he had — the way he overreacted to Dean going out alone when he couldn't sleep. They both had done that over the years. Sometimes, they needed some space from each other. But this time, it felt different because Dean had Benny to take his place.

"Of course it's for you, dumb ass," Dean answered as he shrugged off his jacket. "It's some kind of vanilla mocha crap. I thought you might like that."

Sam recognized the gesture for what it was – an attempt to get back to normal.

Dean nodded toward the duffle. "You wanna tell me what that's about?"

He sounded more curious than mad.

"I … uh …." Sam faltered. The truth sounded pathetic. He thought Dean left him. He could give him a half-truth that he was looking for Dad's journal. But that sounded weak, too, since he had no reason for needing it. He thought about spilling everything to him.

There were so many things he wanted to say to Dean. Like how he missed him when he was his Purgatory. Some days, it hurt just to breathe. He wanted to explain how lost he felt when he met Amelia and how she literally saved his life. But even after he was with her, he thought about Dean every day. He considered explaining that wanting a normal life never meant pushing Dean out of it. Not like he had when he went Stanford. He just wanted more than this hunting could give him.

But the words died on his lips as he watched some life return to his brother. His mouth twitched into a smirk watching Sam struggle with an explanation. Dean had been a shell of himself since he got back form Purgatory. Sam was so damned happy that he could see a spark in his brother's eyes again.

"I was worried," he said finally.

"You were worried." Dean repeated the words as if he had trouble understanding them.

"You disappeared and we've been — you know — fighting a lot."

Dean's face slacked. "I didn't disappear. I went out for a drive." Nodding to the cup in Sam's hand, he added "… and some coffee."

"Well …." Sam faltered again. It was Dean's way of saying he wasn't going anywhere. His chest loosened a bit, though he knew things were still not completely okay between them. It was a start. With nothing else to say, he acknowledged the desperately needed hot cup of coffee. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Dean waved away the thanks. "And … um … sorry."

Sam wasn't sure if the apology was for leaving without telling him or for the things he said when he was possessed. Or maybe for pounding him so hard for not looking for him while he was in Purgatory. But it didn't matter at the moment.

"Me too." He was equally as vague, but hoped that it covered everything.

The brothers locked eyes for a beat until Dean cleared his throat, breaking the moment.

"I need a shower," he said, leaning past Sam to grab some clean clothes from the open duffle. "Clean up my stuff and then we can go back to the coffee shop for breakfast."

"Same coffee shop?"

A smirk tugged at Dean's lips as he winked. "The coffee's good and the waitress was hot."

oOo

Dean shut the bathroom door behind him, his smile fading out. Pretending that everything was okay – that _he_ was okay – took some effort. But the step toward rebuilding his relationship with his brother was worth it. He didn't even mind that Sam was rummaging through his things. It meant he still cared. They had a shot at moving past all of this.

Maybe it was better just not to talk about their differences. They needed to get back to hunting and just being brothers.

As he stepped under the stream of hot water, he ignored the feeling that their unresolved conflicts would rise up again. He pushed it all down. The hurt. The bitterness. The kind of dread he hadn't felt since Sam jumped into the cage with Lucifer.

Because the one thing he knew was that he would never, ever give up on his little brother.


End file.
